Revelations
by The Baron
Summary: Chapter 4 up, lotta questions answered, but it's far from over. =)
1. Of Shooting Stars

Space. It has been called the final frontier for humanity, a place where lives are started and ended. Within its cold void, salvation or destruction can be found by those willing to look for it. A never-ending darkness that can make or break men's dreams.  
  
For Brig. Gen. William Clark, space was just something in the way of fighting real wars, not in space, but on the ground. Both his father and brother fought during most of the Guild Wars, and both died before he reached the age of 18. Will joined the Marines after hearing the news about his brother's death, and by the time his training was complete, the conflict was all but over. The young 2nd Lieutenant took part in a few minor skirmishes with Combine forces before the Treaty of Tyrandor IX was signed, ending the hostilities between the Terran Confederacy and the Kel- Morian Combine.  
  
Never given the chance to prove his true military intellect, Clark was delegated to backwater outposts, until a unique opportunity presented itself to the now 27 year old Marine Captain; political unrest on a near-by mining planetoid had caused the ousting of the local governor, and threatened to put a dent into the military budget from the lose of important minerals required for new "projects." As Clark was the closest Confed officer, he was given the job of "restoring order" to the small planet.  
  
While the media was kept hush hushed by the state, Clark took his small garrison and, landing them just outside the main mining complex, took on a militia of 10,000 angry miners with only a fifth of that number of Marines in a do-or-die battle. Clark drew upon his limited experiences and training and defeated the overwhelmingly numerical miners. Higher-ups, glade to be done with the "rebellion" so quickly and quietly, rewarded the previously unheard-of Captain, and Clark began receiving more "prestigious" assignments.  
  
Now a man of 46 years, Clark was feeling bored these days. The political climate had been calm for the last 17 years; reports of pirate activity had quieted down; the desk job was finally getting to his head, and now he was given the "honor" of escort duties. Mr. Pollock, a Confederate Prospector heading for the Planet 12-1555 in the Copulas System, suddenly needed protection for his operation. Though sometimes the local animal life could be dangerous, it rarely, if ever, required a full Marine division and an entire flotilla of combat ships.  
  
He was in his quarters finishing off the shot of whiskey when the orderly came inside in a rather loud manner. "Sir, your presence is requested on the bridge." Clark slowly got up from the soft chair, cracking his back as he turned to face the message boy.  
  
"Next time, son, It would be polite if you do not come barging into an officer's quarters without knocking." Though with a strict face, the aging man got his kicks once in awhile by making under-officers sweat.  
  
"Oh, excuse me, sir, I-"  
  
"It's quiet alright son," Clark said with a slight smile. "This time." He changed back into the grimacing old fart, as the obviously new orderly gulped rather loudly.  
  
"Yes sir, general sir." The young man exited as quickly as he entered, feeling a need to put distance between himself and the "grumpy" old officer. Though he was not around to see the smile on Clark's face, as old memories of hard-ass CO's came to mind, and wonder how many times they were having a little fun behind that grim mask.  
  
Making his way through the winding passageways of the ship, Clark came finally entered the Bridge of the CSS Winona. Just hot off the assembly line, she was the second of the Behemoth-class Battlecrusier line, a new capital ship class exceeding the now-outdated Colossal-class Battleship in firepower, speed, and armor. It was said that if she was running at top speed, the rest of the armada would burn their engines into a heap of hot goo trying to keep up with her. Not usually interested in these "flyboys" and their toys, it was an impressive ship no less.  
  
Standing in front of the command chair, Commodore Rosenberg and Mr. Pollock were staring out the giant view port in front of them, and were discussing something when the Commodore turned to face Clark. "Ah, glad you are here, General Clark. I wanted to tell you that we are approaching the planet, and it will be in viewing range very shortly."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that, sir," reported Clark, as Rosenberg was given full command for this mission, and one cannot show disrespect to his commander. "The quicker we're done with this tea and crumpet mission, the sooner my men and I can get back to real work, sir."  
  
"I do hope, General Clark, that you do not put such little value in such an important mission," spoke Pollock, who look ordinary in his business suit, compared to the uniforms of the two other members of this triumvirate.  
  
"With all due respect, Mr. Pollock, the worse I have seen on one of these "prospecting" missions are a few very noise wild beasts. Nothing that would require an entire Division of Marines, Mr. Pollock." Clark's disposition to the mission range loud and clear in that statement, as silence fell on the group.  
  
"Commodore, sir, we are in range of the planet," spoke up the Helmsman, breaking the uneasy moment between the three men. "Dropping out of hyperspace. Now."  
  
It was like someone had slammed on the breaks, as the Winona and the rest of the task force exited hyperspace. Radio silence was broken as each ship reported in. 2 Cruisers, the Ajax and the Invincible, came up along side the Battlecrusier, one on each flank. Bringing up the rear was the supply ship Ulysses and the construction ship Folkestone, as a screen of Destroyers, Frigates, and Gunboats formed in a sphere formation centered on Winona.  
  
Floating in the nothingness that is space before the fleet is the Planet 12-1555, seemingly just another ball of rocks, dust and mud in the universe. The surface of the planet is 75% land, with seas, great lakes and rivers placed almost as randomly as if they were dropped from the heavens and allowed to float around like confetti before landing. There are few forested areas, as much of the land is rolling hills or flat plains, and several mountain ranges.  
  
All of this did not matter to the three men on the bridge of the Winona, though. They only thing that did matter to them was getting the new mining facility up and running, as quick and painless as possible. "Sir, we are entering orbit around the planet," declared the Helmsman, awaiting the order that was to come.  
  
Commodore Rosenberg glanced over to Clark, before turning towards his first officer. "Give the order, Commander."  
  
  
  
"All right, you dumb inbred sonsofbitchs, this is it. I want a nice clean landing, and I'll have all your asses if anyone screws it up." The lieutenant was being his hard-ass self again, as the Dropship's fuel tanks were tipped off. As if we're actually going into combat thought Mark Williams, just another cog in the fighting force known as the Confederate Marine Corp.  
  
Corporal Williams, D Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry Regiment, 110th Marine Brigade of the 6th Marine Division had been a part of the Corp for most of his life. He grew up in a family with a proud military heritage, and had hoped for an officer position when he joined at 18. His low grades and scores on his IQ test, however, forced him to join the rest of the grunts in Boot Camp. Now a young man of 21, the only action he's seen was the occasional war games or "demonstrations." This would also be his first time on an "alien" planet.  
  
The ship's engines could be heard roaring to life, as the restraints lowered on the 16 Marines sitting in the main hold. The pilot and copilot went through the checklist, a task that lasted 2 minuets before bringing the thrusters to 100%. The bracing locks could barely hold the Dropship in before the go signal was given, as the locks gave way and the ship burst out into the lifeless space.  
  
With it were near hundreds of other Dropships as they roared out of the Winona, like parasites jumping from one body to another. That other body they would infect was Planet 12-1555, the focus of this mighty armada of the Confederacy for being here. Months of planning had gone into this endeavor, and its supporters would not be happy until a profit came of this venture.  
  
As the Dropships were off on their short-lived trip, the bulbous hull of the Folkestone opened itself to the cold nothingness. Within its superstructure was the very heart of the mining expedition, the Command Center. A domed building, it would serve as the main point of communication, transportation, mining and living on the surface of Planet 12-1555. As the CC came to life, it activated its own thrusters, and pushed itself free from the insides of the Folkestone, following close behind the Dropships towards the LZ.  
  
The Landing Zone was at the base of a mountain chain in the Southern hemisphere which formed the shape of a crescent. It was determined to be the most concentration of minerals, and believed to be the location of a large Vespine geyser, a newly discovered gas offering improvements over current fuel cells, and slated to power all ships in the next few years.  
  
"ETA 30 seconds!" The pilot's voice could barely be heard over the roar created as the Dropship burned through the atmosphere. From the ground, observers would dismiss the hundreds of little "shooting stars" as a meteor shower. Until, that is, they realized that they were not chunks of rocks from space, as "meteors" began slowing down and taking shape.  
  
"10 seconds!" The Dropship was slowing down rapidly, but the troopers inside hadn't slowed down as fast as their transport, and were "pulling up" against their restraints. Indeed, it felt like the entire ship was about to break apart, as suddenly the back ramp to the main hold fell down as the locks that held it up let go. The Dropship had finally slowed to a hover, and was ready to discharge its cargo.  
  
"Go, go, go!" The Lieutenant's order was quickly obeyed, as the platoon of Marines filled off the ramp and dropped ten feet onto the planet's surface. They were in a field of what was seemingly tall grass about waist height, which stretched for miles in a rolling plain. Behind them about several miles was the mountain range, though it seemed almost timid to some of the mountains back on Tarsonis. In front of them about a hundred meters was a gathering of some dense foliage, a mixing of what could be called bushes and trees, though they were of a smaller variety then usual.  
  
What was most noticeable was the clear sky above that had a rather purplish hue to it. The mountains also had some purple to it, every leaves on the plants were a mix of indigo, and even the blades of grass had a visible tint of violet.  
  
All around scenes of similar landings were being performed, as each platoon was dropped in a half-circle several clicks wide around the Command Center's landing spot. As the last man on William's transport hopped off, the Dropship raised its ramp, and began ascending back to the heavens, to transport more cargo onto the alien planet.  
  
One thing Mark was surprised at was how light he felt. They had been briefed that the planet would have slightly less gravity then normal, but it felt like he could jump several meters up without the help of his Combat Power Suit. They had also been briefed that 12-1555 had just the right mixture of gases to allow a normal human to walk around and breathe without a suit on, but Intel had been wrong in the past. No one was in a hurry to expose themselves to the elements just yet.  
  
"Alright you apes, we didn't come here to look at the sights, spread out and take defensive positions," barked the Lieutenant. Defensive positions against what, asked Williams to himself. Killer alien bunny rabbits? But the grunts did what they were told, as they fanned out and kneeled in the tall grass, expecting absolutely nothing. Each just wanted the CC to land as soon as possible, wave good-bye to the unlucky souls that will be trapped here with "garrison duty", and get back to meaningful work.  
  
And that's why it came as a total surprise as two small children came barreling out of the flora in front of them, chasing each other towards the Marines. They were only meters apart when the children noticed the strange beings staring at them out of their cold, metallic exoskeletons. They looked like a boy and a girl, each wearing brownish-tan garments from shoulder to ankle. Their face was humanoid, with dirty-red hair covering the top of their head, but two thin lines of barely visible light purple seemed to spill down from each side of their head onto their shoulders and down behind their clothing. There was also a darkish purple line that extended from their bangs out to their noses where it stopped, like some freakish example of a Widow's Peak.  
  
The Marines were too stupefied to move a muscle, much less try to mutter something from their jaw-dropped mouths. Even the hard-ass Lieutenant was silence by this small but gigantic shock to the system. The two parties just stood their and stared at each other, to surprised to do anything worthy of a "first contact" experience.  
  
That's when the ear piercing screeching broke lose upon the hapless Marines. It was the little "girl" who let out the unpleasant parody of a Siren's song, as she ran headlong into the bushes, followed behind by her companion. The screaming continued on as it became distant and finally stopped, to the thankfulness of the miserable troopers, especially when their Combat suits intensified sound vibrations, designed to hear sneaking enemies.  
  
As the group came to their senses, not a single word was uttered over the intercom. They all just stared at one another, almost unable to comprehend what had happened, and hoping someone in the platoon would come up with a clear answer to this ground-shattering experience. Instead they just stood there, as the single most important event in this planet's history began slipping away with each minuet... 


	2. Riddles of a Lesser Sun

"Yes, that's right.. They looked like children, one was a.. No I haven't been.. Of course not.. I'm telling you, they were human, or looked human... No I am not delusional!"  
  
The Lieutenant was "on the horn" with HQ, as the rest of the squad just stood around, stupefied by what had happened half an hour ago and discussing what the hell it was they had see.  
  
"Maybe it was all an optical illusion," spoke Joe 'Ox' Punchinello, a big brute of a man. "Just like, ummm.."  
  
"Yeah, it was just swamp gas that was hit by moonlight at a funny angle," retorted Jim Alden in a sarcastic manor.  
  
"Well, it sure as hell was real, I can tell ya that," spoke up Williams, as everyone else went silent. "We all saw it, and we definitely heard it." There were several nods to that, as a few troopers still had ringing in their ears.  
  
"Well, screw you too, asshole!" The Lieutenant was pissed at the operator on the other end, and slammed the radio phone to the ground as he walked back towards the group. "I want everyone back to your positions now! Sergeant, pick two men and head into that woods. See if you can find the little 'illusions' and report back."  
  
"Yes, sir; Williams, Alden, you're coming with me. The rest of ya heard what the lieutenant said, now move it!" Sarge started marching into the woods, as Williams and Alden followed close behind. They disappeared in the thick underbrush, watched by the remaining platoon members.  
  
As they barreled through the forest, the items around them began to become stranger and stranger. Not only were the leaves purple colored, but the trunks were more green then brown. The "canopy" was only about two or three feet above their heads, which let in a good amount of light, and the whole wooded area seemed infested by tiny, green-furred creatures, which hopped among the trees and atop the marines' heads.  
  
"Hehe, looks like you made a friend there Jim," said Mark as one of the animals sat atop his helmet. The little creature looked over the front of the helmet and both meet eye to eye. Jim gave a grunt, and brushed the nuisance off his head, continuing on. The little monkey-like beast clung to a branch, screeching at Jim. Thankfully, it was not as bad as the earlier creature's shriek.  
  
Sarge raised his hand, signaling Jim and Mark to stop. He had come across a small path, which bent into two different directions where he stood. He thought of which way to go, as he switched his rifle to his left hand, and leaned against a tree with his right. The trunk looked strong enough to support him, but as he applied full pressure, the tree broke in two near the bottom, as both foliage and marine fell with a crash.  
  
Neither Jim nor Mark could hold back their laughter, as even Sarge chuckled as he got himself back up. "Guess I don't know my own strength," he said, a grin in the corner in his mouth.  
  
"Must be the low gravity; just enough for things to grow, but not as strong as regular gravity," assumed Mark, as the laughter died down, and everything was back to business.  
  
"This way," declared Sarge, as he took the path to the right, and the two privates followed in suit. The path cut about two feet into the forest, and big, purplish leaves hung over into the troopers' faces. They marched on until they came to the end of the path, as it opened up onto another stretch of rolling plains like the one they had left.  
  
"I don't see anything," said Jim, as the trio scanned their surroundings. "Nothing but this damn endless grassland and that damn jungle we just left."  
  
"Lieutenant, we've reached the other side of the forest," spoke Sarge over the platoon intercom. "No sighting of the creatures seen earlier or anything of the sort."  
  
"Alright Sergeant," the crackle of the Lieutenant's voice was heard over the radio. "The C&C has begun its final landing procedures, report back on the double." Sarge and Jim were making their way back into the woods when Mark motioned for them to stop.  
  
"Hey Sarge, come take a look at this," he said, pointing out into the endless fields of tall grass. "Out beyond that far rise, tell me if you see what I see." Sarge stood besides the private, and adjusted the magnification on his visor. Just right where Mark had pointed, Sarge could see an outcropping of buildings; most seemed small and made out of sod, except for a large, greenish wall, which looked as if to be made of logs and hid from view what it protected on the inside.  
  
"Well, I'll be damned," uttered Sarge, getting back on the intercom. "Sir, it appears we've found what could be a, err, village-"  
  
"What the hell you mean 'could be a village', Sergeant? I want you to recon the area, and make damn sure you're positive of what you see." The Lieutenant sounded annoyed, as he usually was all the time, either at his own men, or the "armchair generals" above him.  
  
"Well, you heard him. Guess we better get a closer look," said Sarge, who had been on the receiving end of the Lt's wrath more then once and showed it. "Williams, you take point."  
  
The group of marines continued on towards the apparent gathering of buildings, going about in a more casual manor. The grass here seemed to be cut, which only came about knee-high in their combat suits. They also started coming across beaten paths in the grass, made by hundreds of feet over many years down to the dirt, which despite everything else, looked normal to the men. In the West the sun was setting, but in the East another was rising, this one not as bright as the first though. A flock of exotic birds flew overhead, calling out in high voices as if to warn all others of aliens on their planet.  
  
So nonchalantly had the marines been walking, that they were taken back in surprise when they came over the next rise to find the little hamlet right in front of them. Oblivious to the three strangers viewing them, the denizens of the cozy town went about with their lives. All were wearing dull, brown clothing, though in some there was a variation of the design between the two sexes. The "adults" were taller and slightly larger then the children, but still seemed a foot or two short of the humans, and all had the same purple markings as the two before. The scene would have been reminiscent of a Medieval European village, if not for the trio of metallic figures standing above.  
  
"Umm, you think we should get out of sight?" Jim posed the question just seconds before a scream rang out from the village. The marines were not sure who rang out the siren call, but they were sure that all eyes from below were fixated on them, and soon enough panic ran amok within the once- sleepy village.  
  
"Now look what you did," responded Mark, as chaos was abound just below their feet. Babies were crying, couples were holding on to each other, families were busy packing their things.  
  
"Look what I did? I didn't do anything!" Jim did like to cause trouble once in awhile, but to be blamed for something he didn't do.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure if you hadn't said something, they wouldn't have noticed," was Mark's retort. "You're always doing stuff like that. Remember the pub on Tarsonis?"  
  
"Hey now, that wasn't my fault, those damn Fleet guys are way too cocky for their own good." Mark and Jim were in a staring contest, whilst the action down below intensified as the people began fleeing en mass from the buildings.  
  
"Gentlemen," spoke up Sarge, parting the two parties. "If you haven't noticed, we have more important-" Before Sarge could finish his, a raving native, spouting some inane babble, had climbed up the little knoll and with a exotic dagger, leaped into the air and stabbed down into Sarge's chest.  
  
Sarge just looked down, seeing the hilt of the dagger was meeting his chest plate, yet the actual blade, in more pieces then one, was lying on the grass by his feet. His Combat Suit's armor was too strong for the poor creature's knife, and more annoyed then afraid, gave the thing the back of his right hand, sending it flying off the hill and landing with a thud. It stopped moving after that, and a few of its limbs seemed bent out of place.  
  
"Like I said earlier," as Sarge began moving down the hill, followed by two shocked privates. "We have better things to do then sit around here arguing." The platoon intercom crackled as Sarge reported in to the Lieutenant. "Sir, we have confirmation that what we found is, or was, a village of some sorts."  
  
"Was? Explain, Sergeant," was the Lieutenant's next command. Something could be heard from his end, probably the engines of an incoming Command Center setting down in her new home.  
  
"Well, it seems we scared away the local inhabitants, though a few are pretty hell-bent on killing us," reported Sarge, as another screaming alien, with an almost exact copy of the earlier knife, can running at Sarge. The cool, calm NCO lifted his Gauss rifle up and fired off a single 8mm metal "spike" at the angry resident. The very shell knocked him off his feet onto his back a foot from where he was shot, a gaping hole left dead center in his chest.  
  
"Alright, recon the rest of this 'village' and report back on the double," was the Lieutenant's last order, as the radio chatter died with a suddenness like the poor native who had just eaten some lead.  
  
"Mark, you check the inside of those walls, Jim, cover that half of the village, and I'll check this one," barked Sarge, the three soldiers splitting up to their own objectives.  
  
Williams strolled up to the log wall and examined it for any kind of opening. Frustrated with several minutes of searching on his side, he thought "Aw, screw this." Lifting his rifle up and, cocking the underslung grenade launcher, he let fly a high explosive shell. The resulting hole was good enough size for him to walk though, but the overhead, having lost its support, collapsed and left a wide open tear in the wood wall, not to mention starting a few small fires.  
  
Walking in, Mark theorized the walled-in place had been some kind of holding area, perhaps for some cargo or animals, or perhaps something sinister. For now, though, it was completely empty, save for a stone pedestal in the center, and one of the creatures hiding under it. It looked to be male, plain brown clothes, but fear was in his eyes, almost like it was consuming his sole.  
  
As Mark started walking closer to it, he backed up against the wall as quickly as he could, as if trying to claw his way out. Apparently, there was an opening to the enclosed area, spying a crack on the opposite wall revealing a door, but Mark wasn't interested in that right now. Walking up to the pedestal, he looked curiously at the man, though his expression was hidden behind his visor. He was no different then the others, same dull clothing, short with purple markings, red hair and a passion to go with it. As Mark took a few more steps towards him, the man lifted a dagger into the air, shouting more gibberish with a mix of furor and trepidation in his voice.  
  
Mark stepped closer, reaching his hand out as a gesture of friendship. "Maybe I can get through to this one," he thought, standing there with hand outstretched. To his horror, the man raised his knife high and, uttering some final words, stabbed himself in the chest, kneeling over on his side. As he was in his death throws, an idol he had been carrying fell out of his cold hands, rolling towards Mark before stopping at his feet.  
  
Williams picked up the small stone doll, examining it and the dead figure before him. Each looked the same, but the little statue seemed more grandiose, in one hand holding a Partizan-like weapon, the other making some weird hand sign, and rays of light coming from behind his armor-clad body. Walking back over to the pedestal, he placed the figure back on top of it, and walked back out of the hole in the wall. 


	3. Orders and Bloodshed

Mark, Jim, and Sarge met just outside the walled enclosure. No other trace of life was found in the village. Jim had found a cache of weapons, small spears and swords, and had set the hut they were stored on fire. "Just in case, y'know," he said, though all three doubted any of the weapons could have hurt them through their armor.  
  
"Lieutenant says new orders came down from Command, we're to sit put here like good soldiers and watch for any more 'indigenous life forms," spoke Sarge, as discontentment rained down all their faces.  
  
"Great, just fricking great. Ya know, we were suppose to head back up to the battlecruiser when we secured this LZ. I need to take a God-damn shower, and-"  
  
"Will you shut the hell up, Jim! It's bad enough we gotta stay here, I don't wanna spend it listening to you bitch," said Mark, the two in a deadly staring contest.  
  
"Shut up, both of you!" Jim and Mark stared at Sarge, and looked down to the ground where he was staring at. "Do you hear that?"  
  
All three stood still and listened. Their audio amplifiers were picking up a lot of sound. It was the sound of metal clinking against metal, the sound of voices, cheering, and songs, the sound of many feet walking in motion together. And it was coming towards them.  
  
They did double time in the direction of the sounds, coming over one rise and lying flat at the next. Mark was the first to peek his head over the hill, and asset the situation. It looked to be a battalion of soldiers, all looking like the previous villagers, marching in column along one of the dirt roads leading from the village. Many were armed with short curved swords and wore studded leather, while several held aloft Partizans, staves with an elongated cutting blade at the top. Near the back of the marching procession were several beasts of burden, hairy things walking along their stumpy four legs, carrying several large loads and pulling some odd-looking devices. At the very front situated between two fluttering banners was what appeared to be the commander of the unit, wearing a suit of armor and a blue flowing robe, while the rest of his similarly officers trailed behind him.  
  
"I don't know, do you think they knew we were here?" Mark was more inquisitive then fearful in his question when he came back down.  
  
"Don't make me laugh, Mark. I'm quite surprised those beasts can stay marching in line," retorted Jim.  
  
"Hold on now, looks like something's happening."  
  
Mark and Jim followed Sarge's gaze back towards the soldiers. Someone, a scout probably, was running up to the commander and his staff. They could see he was winded, and when he reached the assembly they could hear him speak to the leader, though what he was saying they couldn't make out. The officer could though, and turned to his subordinates. After a brief discussion, they turned to the mass of troops and began shouting orders, in a rather high-pitch tone that reminded them of the little girl earlier. There was quite a commotion within the ranks, as soldiers began shifting around into three new columns and, to the three troopers' surprise, began marching right towards them.  
  
"Well, this was certainly unexpected. Maybe they know right where we are?"  
  
"Doubtful, they're taking the shortest route to the village. Guess they wanna find out just what the hell happened."  
  
"Enough jabbering, we gotta do something to scare 'em off," said Sarge, who cocked and locked the grenade launcher underneath his gun. "Nothing like a little high explosive to frighten the natives," he spoke with a grin, and then stood up in plain view of the troops below.  
  
They were quite taken back when Sarge stood up, but not as much as when an explosion ripped up the middle column of soldiers. The survivors began backing off, despite the coercions of their officers, and it seemed to take the group's leader to rally them back into line. That was when Sarge noticed the odd devices that had been pulled by the laboring beasts were now pointed at him, and he realized just what they were in time.  
  
Sarge was again on the ground with Jim and Mark when the first blast hit to top of the knoll, followed by two more detonations. "Well, I'll give credit to the little buggers; guess they're smart enough to invent cannons. Mark, circle around their left flank and take out those mortars. Jim and I will have the pleasure of taking the rest of them out."  
  
With a nod, Mark was off, running around the base of the hill towards the cannons. He passed another knoll when he came upon the cannons from behind. The four field guns were rather odd-looking, each oversized barrel resting on its own set of four wheels that looked like they were ready to collapse. A crank system raised and lowered its trajectory, and each crewmember was busy loading them for the next volley. That was when Mark opened up, spraying the four guns and their crews. When he stopped firing, a grotesque scene stood before him: the humanoid creatures lay sprawling over their still-hot guns, burning metal beginning to sear their flesh. Some were barely recognizable after receiving multiple high-caliber rounds to their small stature, and one creature's brain matter was seeping into a pile of cannon rounds. Mark had to swallow back down the vomit that was trying to force its way out of his stomach, like a condemned prisoner trying to break free of his gas chamber.  
  
The sudden stop of their barrage forced many of the advancing infantry to look back, and that was when Sarge and Jim struck. Leaping back up on top of the cratered summit, they saturate the advancing columns with gunfire. The primitive battalion below them went into an all-out route as the soldiers, watching their fellows being mowed down like grain to the scythe, were compelled to value their lives over the order of their commanders. The unit's commander, trying to rally the troops once more, raised his sword up towards the two Marines, and began to say something when a bullet from Jim's rifle tore right through his left shoulder. Gazing at their commander fall to the ground, even the officers joined their men in running as far away as their legs could carry. Jim and Sarge kept firing pot shots into the fleeing group till they were satisfied they weren't in the mood to come marching back.  
  
The three reunited amongst the dead and dying, Mark and Jim taking care to avoid the corpses while Sarge literally walked all over them.  
  
"Like goddamn cattle to the slaughter," spoke Jim, as small moans and groans could still be heard. Mark nodded his head in agreement, and noticed Sarge walking over to the battalion commander. He seemed to still be moving, his wound painful but not mortal-yet. Sarge gave him a kick with his boot, and then turned to the privates.  
  
"Looks like we got a souvenir to take back with us, boys. Thing's still alive, just barely. Get on the horn with the lieutenant, Jim, and radio in for something to pick us up off this damn rock." 


	4. The Things that Shadows Know

REPORT A-137 SUBJECT: PLANT 12-1555 RICH MINERAL DEPOSTIS LOCATED. POSSIBLE VEIN OF VESPINE GAS EXTENDING ACROSS SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE. UNATURAL COLORING POSSIBLE EFFECT OF ATMOSPHERE. NO CIVILIZED LIFEFORMS DETECTED.  
  
Clark read over that last sentence again, sitting within the confines of his office aboard the Battlecrusier. It was the report sent in from the scouting party sent months before the "invasion fleet" as he liked to call it. It is an invasion fleet he thought to himself, as he put that document down and picked up the latest report.  
  
HOSTILE HUMANOID LIFEFORMS ON PLANET 13-1555. SEVERAL SETTLEMENTS LOCATED AROUND CC LZ. REPORT OF AN ENGAGMENT BETWEEN MARINES AND LIFEFORMS AT GRID GAMMA 12 ARMED WITH PRIMITIVE LIFEFORMS. ONE CAPTURED PRISONER.  
  
Below that passage was an image of one of the creatures, most likely the prisoner they captured. He was lying on a metal medical table, stripped of his armor that was laid next to him, his left shoulder bandaged up like a mummy. His features were very striking, especially his flaming red hair that was woven into a single brad that fell across his chest. The purple lines that started on either side of his neck extended down to his hands, though the forehead line stopped right at the tip of his nose, while the rest of his body was a creamy color, just like the general's skin.  
  
Clark wanted some answers, and he knew the son of a bitch that'll give him those answers.  
  
"Mr. Pollock!" It took Clark only a minute to storm into Mr. Pollock's quarters/office from his own. He was sitting at his own desk, looking over his own reports and documents, and looked up at Clark in a composed, calm manor.  
  
"Would you mind explaining the meaning of this?!" He threw the two reports on top of Mr. Pollock's work, knocking some of the papers off the desk. He gave them only a glance, knowing full well what they read and what the General wanted.  
  
"Why, General Clark, I was as surprised by this revelation as you-"  
  
"Don't give me that crap, Mr. Pollock. You were in charge of the scouting party, you knew what they discovered, and you held back that information on purpose. Why?!"  
  
Mr. Pollock made a frown at the General, and they were again locked in a mental clash that was renewed from earlier. Pollock broke their engagement, and scanned the room as if aware of some unwanted eyes. Satisfied they were alone, he turned to the empty space to his right and spoke "Alright, you can come out now."  
  
That empty space began to waver, like paper blown by the wind, and the image of a Ghost appeared in the room. He was wearing the standard Encounter suit worn by all physic agents of the Confederacy, his face masked by the elaborate goggle system with its multitude of eyepieces.  
  
"I'm sure you're fully aware of the top secret Ghost program, General Clark, and I trust you know that this information cannot leave this room," said Pollock, to which Clark nodded in approval.  
  
"The scouting party did detect the intelligent life forms on planet 12-1555. The Confeds took great interest in them, and immediately dispatched a team of Ghost agents to observe and report their findings." Pollock turned to his Ghost friend, as the unnamed agent spoke to Clark.  
  
"We've been analyzing their language, culture, and other aspects of their life for months. They call themselves the Tal'el, and believe that they were chosen by their creator to one day ascend to the level of gods and meet 'Him'. That seems to be their only religion, as anything else besides the worship of 'Him' would be labeled as heresy and wiped off the planet. While some of the middle and upper class are only religious for religious sake, the poor peasants are fanatical in this belief. There is also evidence that they were once ruled by a great empire that controlled the western hemisphere but dissolved a standard century ago through infighting. They're currently divided into city-states ranging in size and military power, though they do send representatives to a 'Council of Elders', a sort of United Nations assembly from Old Earth."  
  
Wow, he knows his ancient history thought Clark, to which the Ghost replied "Thank you, sir." He would have seen the Ghost crack a smile if not for his mask.  
  
"What is really surprising is the size of their population, currently on the order of twelve billion. The average adult requires very little food on a weekly basis, and their non-industrial status keeps them from outstripping the planet beyond what it can take. As far as weaponry goes, we're talking Medieval Earth, though the recent discovery of a black powder- like substance has brought about crude cannons."  
  
Clark found the information about the population rather disturbing. A division of Marines against 12 billion people? He was about to ask a question when the Ghost beat him to the answer.  
  
"We believe their reaction to the Marines is in part with an ancient legend of theirs that tells about Balkmor, or 'He Who Will Not Be Named', launching an assault upon their homeland and starting a great war against and between the city-states. Strangely enough, his soldiers seem to dress like your Marines and are armed with "weapons of fire and brimstone", which accurately describe the Gauss rifle they carry. It also tells that, should the Tal'el keep their faith in 'Him' during this trying time, 'He' will come down and help them in their war against the Evil Ones."  
  
"Great, so we're going up against 12 billion fanatics who believe God is on their side," retorted Clark with a snort.  
  
"All we have to worry about is that 'He' won't come down from on high and strike us down with lightning bolts, General," spoke Pollock sarcastically, a smug attitude to that whole "God" thing. "As our Ghost as said, I doubt they could even ruin the paint on a Goliath, much less punch through the armor of a Marine. Besides, that is what this fleet is for, incase your boys just aren't 'up to the job'."  
  
Clark barely took that insult without standing up and ripping his head off the little man's shoulder, but decided something with more tact was required.  
  
"My boys are more then up to the job, Pollock. I just hope they have enough ammo to take on a whole planet." The Ghost didn't need his powers to see the hate between the two men. "Who else knows about this?"  
  
"Just you, myself, and the Commodore. No one else knows about the Ghosts, and no one else needs to know about the Ghosts."  
  
Clark again nodded in approval, and got up to leave as Pollock returned to his paperwork, and the Ghost faded into nothingness. 


End file.
